


Smiles Like Sunlight, Tastes Like Sugar

by SassyStarboard



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Baking, Cute, Dessert & Sweets, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Family, Fluff, Food, Gay Derek Hale, Gay Stiles Stilinski, Love, M/M, One Shot, Polish Stiles Stilinski, Romance, Same-Sex Marriage, Stress Baking, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25643338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyStarboard/pseuds/SassyStarboard
Summary: Stiles and Derek (mostly Stiles) spend their afternoon baking for their special family dinner tomorrow night.[Alternatively: Derek’s boyfriend is a squishy little stress ball and needs lots of love]
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 1
Kudos: 153





	Smiles Like Sunlight, Tastes Like Sugar

It was a beautiful day outside, and Stiles Stilinski was bleeding profusely.

“Calm down.” Derek watched as Stiles sucked his thumb into his mouth, nursing the new cut he’d scraped into his hand with the apple peeler.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not on the brink of death.” Stiles shot back, sour. Admirably, Derek did not laugh. Instead he shook his head fondly, amused.

“Seeing as both of us have _actually_ been on the brink of death before—more than once, in fact—I think there’s a chance you might be overreacting.” Derek wagered. Stiles moved to the sink to rinse and wash his bleeding thumb, scowling childishly.

“I am not. I am dying. Look at me. My life force is fading away as we speak.” He glared pointedly at the traitorous apple peeler, sulking. It was the last apple too. He’d made it through three pounds of fruit without a scratch and on the very last one he’d nearly lost a hand. Figures. Behind him, Derek leaned against their kitchen island with a calm, pleasant expression.

“Stiles—”

“Kiss it better.” Stiles demanded. He gave Derek a thumbs up, sticking out his injury with a pout. Derek obeyed with an amused expression, leeching the pain away as he did so. Stiles smiled brightly.

“All better?” Derek asked, grinning.

“All better.” Stiles agreed. He took up the peeler again, finishing up with the apple skin before picking up the knife beside his cutting board and chopping it into tiny little pieces. Was he using a bit more force than necessary in an effort to exact his revenge? Maybe. But Stiles had bigger things to worry about.

“I thought cooking relaxed you.” Derek raised an eyebrow, glancing at Stiles out of the corner of his eye before he returned to his own task of kneading the dough for the top layer of the pie crust.

“It does.” Stiles insisted, chopping faster. “I just—I’m not focused. I need to focus. I need it to be perfect. It _has_ to be perfect.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were nervous.” Derek said lightly. Stiles sighed, his fingers flexing and drumming on the granite surface of their kitchen counter. 

“No, I...well, I’m not _not_ nervous.” Stiles admitted, staring pensively into the bowl of cinnamon sugar. Derek reached out, taking Stiles’s hand in his. He could smell the anxiety coiling around Stiles like a shroud; a bitter, acrid taste that nearly overpowered the sweet smell of glistening sugar and melting butter.

“Do you need to take a break from cooking?” Derek asked. He leaned down and lightly kissed the edge of Stiles’ jaw, knowing what it would do to him. Stiles shivered. He stopped worrying his lip between his teeth. Progress.

“N-No.” Stiles managed, scraping the apple pieces off the cutting board and letting them roll into the cinnamon-sugar coating. “No. I like cooking. I like that you’re helping. I need to finish this.”

“We will finish it. And it will be amazing. You make amazing...char-latkes.” Derek cringed, hesitant in his pronunciation.

“ _Szarlotka_.” Stiles corrected easily. “It’s Polish. My Babcia used to make it. All the fun of apple pie, none of Chaucer’s heinous political drama.”

Derek frowned, moving a hand to Stiles’ hip and turning him away from the counter. “Apple pie existed before Geoffrey Chaucer.”

“Maybe.” Stiles paused to use the front of his shirt as a napkin, awkwardly wiping down his sugary hands. “But he was the first one to write the recipe down so he gets the credit. Now help me with this crust, I want it to be _flawless_ for tomorrow night.”

Derek leaned in, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist and kissing the worried crease between his brows. Stiles melted into his touch, sighing heavily. Gradually, the crease faded. He let Derek hold him as he savored the moment, savored Derek. The feeling of Derek’s strong embrace, the warmth of the sunlight streaming in through the windows....the sugary sweet smell of all the desserts he had to finish before tomorrow night. Oh. Oh no.

Stiles pursed his lips, drawing back. “The crust, Der. The crust. It has to be perfect. You have to finish the crust.”

“Stiles,” Derek said softly, “my family loves everything you make. They’ll love this too. I promise.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” Derek said firmly, pressing a gentle kiss to Stiles’ lips. Stiles whined against him, his forehead leaning against Derek’s for support. Yeah. Stiles was nervous. He knew he could cook, he knew he was a good baker, but tomorrow night...Stiles didn’t know what he would do if tomorrow night went badly. He _needed_ family dinner to go well. They both did.

“You’re sure?” He asked quietly.

“They love you, Stiles.” Derek promised. “My family loves you as a person, they love you as my boyfriend….and they are going to love you even more as my fiancé.”

“I....oh, I think we need more food.” Stiles stepped away, nodding fiercely before moving to the fridge, rummaging through it for inspiration. Logically, he knew Derek’s parents didn’t hate him. However, knowing your only son was dating another man was a lot different than knowing your only son was _marrying_ one and Derek’s parents would probably tolerate them but Derek’s creepy uncle was terrifying and Cora and Malia have always looked at Stiles like they want to swallow him whole and what if he can’t—

“Four desserts is enough, babe.” Derek said gingerly. “This dinner is for announcing our engagement, we’re not hosting the Pope.”

“Does Malia hate me?” Stiles wanted his voice to sound strong but it came out in a whine. Derek watched Stiles carefully as he dug more food out of the fridge.

“No.” Derek promised. “Malia hates everyone.” Stiles gave a dry laugh. “I’ve told you, Stiles. We all love you. _I_ love you. They’ll be so happy for us, I know they will. If anyone should be worried, it’s me. Your father, the Sheriff? He owns a _lot_ of guns.”

Stiles huffed, distractedly tossing the apples into the sugar mix and starting to line them along the pan. “Pretty sure _werewolf_ trumps _gun_ —”

“Tomorrow will be great,” Derek said firmly, “and for the record, just because it manifests itself in different ways doesn’t mean I’m not nervous too. That scarf I’ve been making you is probably about twelve feet long by now.”

“I still can’t believe you knit.” Stiles scoffed, conceding.

“Believe it.” Derek said simply. 

“You…” Stiles pursed his lips, thinking, “...you’re right. About tomorrow, I mean. And the knitting. You’re awesome at knitting. But I really want to believe you and we have to tell them at some point so….tomorrow will be good. As long as you’re there with me, it’ll be good.”

“ _Great_.”

“Yes. Great.” Stiles nodded to himself. Satisfied, Derek picked up his fork and started crimping the edges of the crust. Stiles left for a trip to the pantry and returned a few minutes later with an armful of new ingredients. Derek smiled at him. Stiles smiled back.

Shuffling forward, Stiles set everything down on the island before using his newly-freed hands to reach around and grope his fiancé’s ass. Derek grinned sharply, his teeth gleaming, and moved in close to return the favor. Stiles turned into him and carded his hand through Derek’s hair, looking up at him through his lashes with mischief in his eyes. Derek’s fangs itched at his gums, his control starting to waver—one look from his mate was all it took. He let out a soft, low growl, full of intent and greed. Stiles had an inviting gleam in his eyes that accomplished the same effect.

“Mmmm.” Derek managed, his hands moving to Stiles’ chest. “Don’t we have a dessert to bake? Keep looking at me like that and we’ll never finish.”

“Oh, we’ll finish.” Stiles ran his tongue over his teeth, waggling his eyebrows. Derek burst out laughing, the deep, rich sound filling the kitchen. Stiles beamed, absurdly proud. He watched Derek smile at him, with his bright full lips and his cute little teeth. Stiles knew he’d never love anything as much as he loved that smile. He felt happy and safe, especially so knowing that his own smile made Derek feel the same.

“Come on,” Derek said quietly, “the dessert’s almost done isn’t it? As soon as we get it in the oven….”

“Oh wow, would you look at that?” Stiles immediately threw the rest of the cinnamon-sugar apple pieces into the crust-lined pan, not bothering to arrange them. “This looks about ready to go into the oven! We’ve been working very hard for nearly thirty minutes now. I think we deserve a break, don’t you?”

Stiles quickly and precisely placed the top layer of dough over the pan of _Szarlotka_ without waiting for Derek’s response. If Derek’s family didn’t like his food then that was their problem, because suddenly Stiles could care less about how pretty his dessert was. Stiles now cared about one thing and one thing only—keeping Derek’s gorgeously sexy smile on his face as long as he possibly could. Stiles opened the oven door and slid the pan inside, closing it with a smug little smirk tugging at his lips. Derek reached up past him and set the cooking timer on their microwave. Ninety minutes.

“My goodness, that’s a lot of time. However shall we spend it, my darling?” Stiles trailed a hand down his finacé’s arm; his tone light and innocent, his expression anything but. 

“It is quite a while, isn’t it?” Derek pretended to think it over. “Whatever will we do?”

“I can think of a few things, and—lucky for us—it’s a pretty loud timer. Not louder than _us_ , but it’s connected to my phone so there’s no way we’ll miss it. Totally safe. Pretty convenient, huh?” Stiles’ voice had gone slow and rough. He felt Derek’s eyes drinking him in, felt the heat of his gaze running over his body. Stiles responded in kind. Derek gave a low hum of approval in return, desire darkening his eyes.

“I trust your judgement.” Derek said seriously.

Stiles grinned. “Where would we be if you didn’t?”

Stiles laughed, walking back and leading Derek out from behind the island. He pulled Derek out and away from the kitchen, towards the stairs that led up to their bedroom. Derek followed him eagerly, dazed with want. Speaking from experience, the two of them could do a _lot_ in ninety minutes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Added in the part about Stiles’ phone being connected to the cooking timer at the last minute bc I realized that even with his werewolf hearing, Derek Hale would never abandon a running oven (yikes) without some kind of fail-safe. Please lmk what you thought!!


End file.
